[Camille is just now hauling ass out of the water, box of personal effects in tow and face twisted in displeasure. Many leeches, some stuck to her clothes but more than a few that snuck under the hem and suctioned to her shins. Fuck.
She drops the box as she makes it to shore, hands to her hips and catching her breath with her eyes skyward. What the hell is she supposed to do?]
[She bends lower for the final skirt clinger, right at the edge. It makes the hem rise just a bit more.
Robin may have backed up a bit, but she can still see something off about the skin. Not just under the robes either, but down past her ankles, winding into her sodden flats. White lines. Raised, jagged. Legible.
Words. Criss-cross cuts, all carved into letters. Those on her feet are too small to catch, but there's a C-A drifting up her shin that reads clear. F something winding around the side. Smaller letters in between those. It's a lot of ground covered.]
[ what little she can see is concerning, but robin won't close the distance or invade personal space. there is concern, but she doesn't think it's her place to ask about it right now. ]
Please let me know if you need anything. Has anyone told you how to open the box yet?
[The girl's sweet. It makes her teeth grit as she continues to avoid dealing with the leeches, skin crawling and scars thrumming. She'll have to catch her later probably, put on better airs and salvage whatever she can of a first impression.]
Uh — no? I was going to try brute force, but if you've got pointers I'll take them.
Then she looks to the sky, jaw clenched and lips pulled in.]
...Fuck it.
[She quickly hitches the robe a couple inches and rips a leech off, rapid and ruthless. It's tossed into the water as she swipes her hand through the the dripping nick in-between the winding words.
It's over and covered up in a split second. She keeps her eyes on the girl with her hand up, balancing the well of blood on her fingertips. Her eyes are hard. They demand a binding silence, unspoken but potent as an echoed shout.]
[ robin is not cowed, but she is polite and respectful. it's not as if she doesn't understand where privacy is needed, and it's not her situation to air. ]
Camille looks unsure, but she gets on her knees and wipes her fingers over the lid. It pops, she startles. Gingerly she lifts the lid and finds her sweater, deepest navy, folded tightly over a pair of her jeans and boots. Her eyes close in relief.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bursts into tears, quick hand over the anime tiktok filter
She drops the box as she makes it to shore, hands to her hips and catching her breath with her eyes skyward. What the hell is she supposed to do?]
You almost done?
kabby no amy adams is too beautiful
that's not going to be fun. ]
Would you like assistance?
no that's robin
[Hand up, maybe too harsh off the bat. She doesn't even know this woman. Camille grimaces and continues, much more softly now.]
I'll get it. It's fine.
[When she bends though it's to pick the stragglers off her robes. Taking her time about it.]
they are both beautiful
... What of the ones not on your robes?
[ it'd be a miracle if some didn't latch on any free skin. ]
ur right but also it's time for a ((cw: self-harm))
I'm getting there.
[She bends lower for the final skirt clinger, right at the edge. It makes the hem rise just a bit more.
Robin may have backed up a bit, but she can still see something off about the skin. Not just under the robes either, but down past her ankles, winding into her sodden flats. White lines. Raised, jagged. Legible.
Words. Criss-cross cuts, all carved into letters. Those on her feet are too small to catch, but there's a C-A drifting up her shin that reads clear. F something winding around the side. Smaller letters in between those. It's a lot of ground covered.]
no subject
Please let me know if you need anything. Has anyone told you how to open the box yet?
no subject
Uh — no? I was going to try brute force, but if you've got pointers I'll take them.
no subject
no subject
Then she looks to the sky, jaw clenched and lips pulled in.]
...Fuck it.
[She quickly hitches the robe a couple inches and rips a leech off, rapid and ruthless. It's tossed into the water as she swipes her hand through the the dripping nick in-between the winding words.
It's over and covered up in a split second. She keeps her eyes on the girl with her hand up, balancing the well of blood on her fingertips. Her eyes are hard. They demand a binding silence, unspoken but potent as an echoed shout.]
Do I wipe it on or what?
no subject
I believe so. It only needs a bit of contact.
no subject
Camille looks unsure, but she gets on her knees and wipes her fingers over the lid. It pops, she startles. Gingerly she lifts the lid and finds her sweater, deepest navy, folded tightly over a pair of her jeans and boots. Her eyes close in relief.]
Thanks. [A pause.] And...sorry.